


A Party Song

by arithilim



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen, Jewish Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arithilim/pseuds/arithilim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Purim, and Gabe has a Plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Party Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/gifts).



> Thank you to my Jewish holidays consultant, and to my pompom wavers ♥
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not in a band, and this is all fake.

“Daddy, wake up! Wake up!”

Bronx’s voice is high and loud. He’s excited about something, then.

Pete groans and blinks awake. His alarm clock is blinking a steady 10 AM, but Bronx’s little blond head is peaking up at him from the side of the bed. 

“Whassup, little man?” he asks, still half asleep.

Bronx beams, climbing onto the bed. “Uncle Gabe said to give you this!” he announces proudly. “I pulled it all the way here!”

Pete follows the tiny finger pointing at a…thing in the doorway.

He blinks a few times, and tries squinting, but it doesn’t settle into anything more explainable.

The thing is very neon.

“…Your Uncle Gabe told you to give me an explosion of cellophane?” he asks, giving in and sitting up. 

Bronx nods enthusiastically. “Can I open it?” he asks, eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

Pete glances at the thing again. He’s a little concerned there might be a tissue paper explosion if anyone disturbs it, but what the hell. “Go ahead,” he tells his son, and grins when Bronx launches off his bed with an excited whoop. Pete grabs his phone, and follows at a more sedate pace. 

***

Gabe has a plan. 

It’s a great plan. A fucking fantastic one, actually.

Not only is it an amazing plan, it’s a plan for a party, and if there’s one thing Gabe’s an expert on, it’s parties. 

“Why are you giving my son baskets of food to bring to me?” Pete’s voice crackles over the cell line. “And is there any shade of neon you didn’t manage to cram into this thing?”

“The purple selection kind of sucked,” Gabe considers, munching on a piece of toast thoughtfully. “But I think the orange really makes up for it.”

“Yeah, it really sells it,” Pete answers. There’s a rustling on the line, then “Dude, Twisted Cheetos, I love these! But seriously, what the fu-fudge?”

“It’s Purim, bro,” Gabe explains. “Jewish day of giving shit. And I thought you gave up on not swearing around the little dude.”

 

“I thought that was Hanukkah? - _‘Look, Daddy, Jolly Ranchers!’_ Awesome, dude. Save those for after lunch, though -And his preschool teacher doesn’t think it’s a valid parenting style.”

“Yeah, well, apparently we just really like to give presents,” Gabe muses. “And get drunk. Anyway, are you gonna come out to your living room and eat this extra toast or not? I’ve gotta party planned for tonight and I put your club next to location on the invitations.”

“Son of a _bitch_.”

***

He was totally right about this plan - it’s fucking awesome. Gabe sashays across the dance floor, groping at will, until he’s close enough to the DJ booth to swing himself up.

Pete’s happily at the soundboard, mixing something Latin flavored into the Rhianna club mix currently blasting out the speakers. He’d been much more on board with the whole plan once the party got going (and the vodka started flowing, if you know what I mean, as Aubela Saporta would say).

Pete hands over the mic easily enough into Gabe’s grabby hands.

“How are you doing tonight?” Gabe yells into it. The crowd roars back at him, and he smirks. “Yeah, me too. Now it’s Purim, so I want everyone here to party hard till you can’t tell Haman from Mordecai! A free round on the house!”

His audience cheers enthusiastically and more than a bit drunkenly, not caring they have no idea what he’s actually talking about and he grins, wide and lose and happy. “Turn is up, Wentz!”

He dives back into the crowd, drink in hand, and lets the beat grab him by the hips. Definitely the best plan ever.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Images via [ultimategabesaporta.org](http://ultimategabesaporta.org).


End file.
